


i miss you in rain

by pinklelelemonade



Category: The Strokes
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, fab is sad, i'll probably continue with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-22 03:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18129455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklelelemonade/pseuds/pinklelelemonade
Summary: Tonight, please stay, stay, stay.Maybe someday you'll find the beauty in what I've become and what I'm turning to every day, as well.





	i miss you in rain

**Author's Note:**

> this is supposed to be Fab's POV, but it could really be anyone. ;))  
> dedicated to my bestest friend and my one and only rolling hoe martinka!

 

  

Keys rattling in the lock. The door slowly opening with a creak.

It’s you.

The molecules of my body that still haven’t realized jump all at once.

My stomach tightens. My heart stops and then starts racing against time.

Tonight, please stay, stay, stay.

 

-

 

You have a split lip, a bruise under your eye and bleeding knuckles. Your cheekbones seem more hollow than usual and so do your eyes. Water is sticking the strands of hair to your forehead and making them seem even darker.

The shadows have soaked through your features, deepening the angles of your features and creating ones where there aren’t any in the daylight. The night has marked you all over, the same way I attempt to every time I get the chance; desperate to claim you, to make you promise you won’t dissolve with the crack of the dawn.

I make you tea. Often, you allow me to spare us both from such unnecessities, but tonight is different.

“Did you get in a fight?” I ask from the counter.

It’s a stupid, hollow question. The answer to it sits personified on the chair by the kitchen table. I glance at you. You flick off your cigarette into the ashtray - I keep one there, just for you, and always empty it out after you leave.

“Was it at the same bar as the last time?”

Silence. The rain is tapping against the window.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t go there anymore.”

The kettle starts whistling. I pour the water into the cup, onto the bag with cheap tea I bought a few weeks ago. You don’t look at me even when I place it down in front of you.

You shake your head, the smoke pouring out of your mouth. “...I wasn’t there.”

I suppose it’s the closest to the truth I'll get. The weight inside my chest reminds itself again when I realize I don’t really want to find out.

"Can I stay?" you ask.

My stomach tightens. The stone in my chest sinks and it'll never hit the bottom.

What does it matter what answer I give you when I'll still wake up to a cold, empty bed?  

I nod.

It’s the same every night. I memorized it; the silent dialogue in which the answers don't match the question. You ask _Can I stay,_  and I say _Make me yours, make me belong to you again, just for one night._  I say _promise me, promise me anything, give me something I can hold onto and never ask me to return it._

Even though you don’t say it, never did and never will, you need someone to keep you together. To not abandon you, even if you’re not capable of doing the same to somebody else. To keep your bones from falling apart. Sometimes it feels as if there’s not enough of me to make that possible.

You don’t drink the tea. Instead, you reach out for my hand and point your eyes into mine; dark and intense, asking for something I’m not sure I can give you. 

You stand up. I do, as well. Soon, your lips are on mine and the kiss is made out of smoke and gin and the coppery taste of blood lingering under it all. I take your face gently in my hands. You pull me closer to you by the waist and later, I can’t remember the moment when we got into the bedroom, but you press me into the mattress, pin my wrists above my head and lean down to kiss my neck and nothing really matters anymore. 

Yet again, with my fingers tangled in your hair, with your lips on my ear, I get to pretend you're only mine. 

My mind is a raging sky, indigo clouds and flashes of lightning and the catastrophic scenery stretching out, the land destroyed for miles ahead. You love the apocalypse, always did, and the idea of the world afterward, too. Maybe someday, you’ll find the beauty in what I’ve become and what I’m turning to every day, as well.

 

-

 

I know you’re leaving. I've memorized this part, too.

Warm fingers get pressed between my shoulder blades, the touch light and feathery. It knocks the air out from my lungs.

I lift my face from the pillow and turn around.

I’m met with your shadowy figure, leaning over the edge of the bed, face sunken in blackness and limbs looking out of proportion.

You could easily be a stranger.

“Don’t go,” I whisper; I beg.

You don’t respond. The night doesn’t respond, merely laughs in the distance.

You could be my lover.

“Go back to sleep,” you finally say.

And still, you leave.

I’m not surprised, but there is a gaping hole inside my chest and it keeps asking why and I’m starting to run out of reasons.

The door closes with a thud. Quieter than usual.

You could be a stranger, but you’re more than a lover to me.

 

-

 

The next night, you don’t return.

I stay up all night and pretend that if I keep waiting, the door will eventually open. My phone stays deadly silent.

The days pass by. The nights pass by. They pretend they don’t know each other, and we do the same.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
